Master-Slave Connection

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dr_mabeuse
dr_mabeuse
3,766 Followers

God, she didn't know why she did these things for him. She didn't know why it got her off so much following his orders and doing things she'd never do by herself, never in a million years. Was it the thrill of making him excited? Of mistreating herself?

No, it was something else. It was letting him control her, of abandoning herself and letting him turn her into a whore. She wished he were here in person to do these things to her himself, of course, but his witnessing her doing them was almost as good. It was almost lewder in some ways, more degrading and degenerate, sicker and more depraved because she was doing it, lying there with her legs parted before the camera, held apart by this crude tourniquet of her fashion belts. Without intending to, she squeezed her buttocks together, flexing her cunt at him, begging him to get started on her, inviting his punishment.

"Rub it, whore!" her screen said, and she did. Reaching down with her left hand and slipping her fingers over the edge of her body to the lips of her sex.

She looked aside, not wanting to face the camera. She was a married woman. What was she doing? She hated touching herself for him. It made her feel cheap and used, and not in a good way. It took the magic out of sex and made it common and vulgar, like blowing her nose, but she knew he loved it. He loved to see her play with herself. He said it meant to him that she was so aroused that she couldn't keep her hands off herself, while to her it meant no such thing. Her body was for him to touch, not her, but she closed her eyes and did it, rocking her fingers in a slow circle, not getting much enjoyment from it though she was already wet and excited.

She knew what would come next so she kept her eyes on the screen.

"Give yourself three with the strap!"

She stopped rubbing, forked her fingers around her pussy to make her labia stand up, and gave herself three lashes with thin, doubled-over purse strap, the leather slapping down over her flesh and her fingers and bringing a sharp and searing pain, shocking and raw. Each blow made her gasp and forced her hips to jerk up toward the pain in a blind thrusting motion as if she sought it out, as if she wanted it.

"Oh! Fuck! Oh!" she moaned, oblivious to his eyes watching her through the camera. Her legs hung limply in the belts as though in hammocks and she was spread before the monitor as though he might come flying through it and land between her thighs. The slaps with the belt brought her cunt to life, made her tingle and throb for more nasty treatment as her clit raised its head like a flower innocently blooming in a bull ring.

"Five more strokes!" he typed, and Helen grimaced. She picked up the belt and slid her fingers around her pussy protectively, guarding her clit. then swung it down five more times, landing it between her legs and making herself wince. Instinctively she tried to close her legs but the belts held them open.

"Enough!" he typed, but Helen could hardly see it. She was reveling in the masochism of whipping her pussy, her protecting hand gone now, slapping the belt down over her clit and making herself jerk her hips in the chair while electric pleasure-pain shot through her body and left her weak.

"The thong! Make the belts into your thong."

Helen sat up weakly. Again, he was going so fast! Usually he'd have her use the vibrator, alternating whipping with vibrator. Now he wanted her to make the belts into her "thong"?

But it wasn't her place to argue.

Dizzily She untied the belts from the arm rest, stood up and slipped them off her legs. She knew how to make his thong. She'd done it before and she hated it and loved it in equal measure.

She straightened the belts out, then ran the end of the thinner one through the buckle of the larger till it was halfway down, and buckled the thinner around her naked waist. The larger belt hung from the small of her back like a tail, and she gripped this and pulled it through her legs and tucked it up behind the buckle in front, making a kind of loin cloth of it that pressed against her pussy. By pulling on the end of the thicker one, she could make this crotch strap press harder against her cunt, chafing her.

"The clips!" he typed.

"No," he answered. "Not now. It's too much!"

"Don't give me that, slut! You'll do as I say!"

She could fight him, make her stand here, but this was really a minor point.

Helen combed her hair back from her face. She was starting to sweat. She was still wearing the white dress, although it was open all the way down, exposing her entire body. She took one of the white hair clips and opened it up. Holding her left breast and squeezing it to make the nipple project, she attached the clip to her areola and cautiously released it, grimacing in pain. She felt her pussy tighten in sympathy.

She clenched her fists, enduring it, waiting for the shock to subside and become a dull ache, then she took the other clip and did the same thing with her right breast, ducking her head and bringing her shoulders up defensively.

"Fuck!" she moaned. "Hurts!"

He couldn't hear her.

"Vibrator!" he typed. "Under the belt. Turn it on and hold it."

Helen reached for the vibe and slid it between the belt and her pussy. Pain coursed through her breasts and her arms but it was getting better now, growing less. She turned the vibrator on and touched it to her pussy and the rich, buttery vibrations suddenly caused her to melt with pleasure. What was he doing to her? Why did she let him do this?

Because she wanted this. She was a slut and a whore and she wanted this, wanted to be used and degraded and lit up like a Christmas Tree by these horrible things he did to her. Because the pain and the use felt good and kept her focused and that if she didn't have this pain to focus on she'd just dissolve in her own need and lust. And she knew that while she was feeling these things, he was harder than a rock and going mad with fuck lust himself and he wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any other woman in his life. That's why she was doing this.

"Ohhh..." Helen lay back in the chair, the clips on her nipples jiggling. She pulled one knee up and ran the vibrator up her slit, her eyes dimly focused on the red light of the camera.

"Helen? Helen? Are you there?"

She tore herself away from her self-stimulation to type: "Yes"

"Listen to me. I want you to go to the turret window. Just as you are. You're to stand there and look out, and you'll see me. Understand? You'll seeme!"

Helen jerked upright.

"What???"

A smiley face; a wide grin on the screen.

"I'm outside."

Helen felt suddenly dizzy. A rush of adrenaline. The vibrator fell from her fingers and lay there buzzing on the floor. She picked it up and turned it off.

"Go look," he typed.

She stood up, still holding on to the belt and the vibrator, and, as if in a dream, she walked to the turret window, the clips on her nipples swaying, tugging at her, and she ascended the three steps. There was a mist outside and everything was foggy, but down at the end of the garden she could see a shape—a man—standing in the alley by a lilac bush, a dark man in a raincoat. He raised a hand at her. He smiled. He raised an iPhone at her.

She was stunned, hollow. The world of anonymity collapsed around her and her body suddenly became solid and fleshy and far too present. Goose bumps covered her chest, despite the clips pulling at her nipples. Her heart hammered in her chest at the same time her pussy seemed to dissolve in its own excited moisture, yearning for him and shrinking back in fear.

On the desk, her cell phone rang. He had her number.

"Hello?"

"It's me," he said. "Master. I was down in the café. They have Wi Fi now, you know. I guess their reception wasn't too good though. Kept on breaking up. Anyhow, I thought maybe it was time we met, Helen."

"Oh my God! I don't believe this!"

"Come to the window."

"I can't!"

"Come to the window, Helen."

His voice sounded just as she knew it would. It was the voice she heard when he typed his messages, and she could no more disobey his voice than she could his written commands. She went to the window.

Standing in the turret, higher than the floor and surrounded by glass on three sides, it was like she was in a display case. There was no one around and her dress shielded her nakedness, but still, the way the turret held her and thrust her backlit out into the misty night could hardly have been more dramatic. She looked down at the shadowy figure by the lilac bush and saw him raise his phone to his lips.

"Turn the vibrator on, Helen."

She could feel his presence, feel him through the glass and the air that separated them, and while she could refuse him at the computer, she knew it was futile here, with the force of his will on her.

She flicked the handle and the vibrator jumped to life in her hand. The clips dug into her breasts as if he were clawing her.

"Put it beneath the belt," he said. "You know where."

She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. It wasn't possible, wasn't believable. He lived sixty miles away.

It was possible. It was him. She held the phone to her mouth but couldn't speak.

"Put the phone on speaker and put it down, Helen. Put the vibrator under the belt.Do it!"

She switched her cell to speaker and put it down on the cushion on the window seat. She stood up, holding the buzzing vibrator in her hand, aware of her visibility in the turret window.

"I want you to do this, Helen," his voice said from the phone. "I want you to do this for me. No one else will know what you're doing even if they see you, and believe me, there's no one around in this miserable weather, so do it!"

The fog was thick and getting thicker, and she knew she was visible in the window like a diamond against the black velvet of the night, but she didn't hesitate. Something perverse took control of her and she parted the dress and slipped the humming vibrator between the belt and her pussy, slipped it in so it jammed against her. She instinctively pulled down on the end of the belt, drawing the middle up snug between her legs to press the vibe against her so tight it took her breath away and staggered her. She reached out with her free hand and braced it against the window casement, her legs weak.

"That's it!" his voice said from the phone. "Just like that! Now stay there! Stay there so I can see you!."

Helen groaned. She could hardly stand. The vibrations hummed against her pussy and into her belly and up to her scalp; ran down her legs and into her feet, turning her insides into melted butter. Instinctively she pulled harder against the belt in an attempt to quell the vibrations but that just focused and localized them and sent a burning spear of pleasure deep into her womb and she felt the vibrator work its way between her labia to the live flesh of her famished pussy.

Desperately, she looked down into the alley but he was gone, and now her phone barked again with his voice.

"Stop it now, Helen. Go to your front door and open it. I'm coming up. I'm coming in. Stop it long enough to unlock the door and then start it again. I want that thing going on you when I walk in, do you understand?"

"Do you understand?"

She released the tension on the belt and the vibrator fell away from her and clattered to the floor, leaving her limbs tingling as if she'd just had a huge electric shock. She picked up her phone. "Yes. Yes, I understand."

This was insane. This was her apartment, her home, where she lived with her husband—the chairs they sat in, the table they ate at, and now she was walking to the door and unlocking it and then turning on the vibrator and slipping it back under the belt because Alex had told her to, leaning against the wall as the vibrations immediately took her over and made rational thought impossible, turned her into a sensual zombie aware of nothing but the magical fact that her master had somehow managed to jump from the screen of her computer to the hallway of her building and was even now climbing the stairs to her apartment.

She was his, she was his, whatever he wanted, as the door opened and Alex walked into the room and his eyes found hers, which were drowning in her own shameful pleasure, offered to him. She knew what he looked like, had studied his pictures so many nights as she followed his orders and debased herself for him and made a whore of himself for him, but now, to see him and the way he moved, the way the picture came alive—

"Helen," he said. He was just as she'd thought, his movements, his presence, but she hadn't counted on this predatory hunger she felt from him. She had always pictured him as aloof and dispassionate; cold and superior and even contemptuous, but in the flesh she felt this heat from him, an intensity she hadn't expected and she felt suddenly foolish, as if maybe she should have met him more formally and not like a slut naked in an open dress with a vibrator pressed up against her pussy by a crudely-rigged belt.

But he didn't give her any time. He grabbed her arms and propelled her back into the room, kicking the door shut as they passed it. He pushed her down on the sofa and stood there, stripping off his coat as the vibrator hummed away between her legs, making her too delirious to think.

She stared at him in horror. In the flesh, he was just a stranger. He might be the man she called Master online, but there was nothing to connect him to that now. He leaned forward and pulled the vibrator from beneath the belt and turned it off, leaving her body ringing like a struck gong, the blood pulsing in her veins. He went to the door and locked it, then took some rope from the pocket of his coat.

"My God!" she said, now that she could speak. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. I took a chance. He's not around, right?"

"No," she said nervously. "But—"

"But?" he challenged. "Am I your master? Are you my slave? Didn't I tell you it would come to this?"

"Yes. Yes. But I never thought—"

"You're not supposed to think," he said. "That's not your job. Your job is to get fucked."

He grabbed the belt that went around her waist and unbuckled it and pulled it off, taking with it the belt that passed over her crotch, leaving her totally exposed. Helen winced, but he lost no time. He pulled the clips off her breasts and Helen moaned as the blood rushed back into her nipples. Then he got two pieces of rope and proceeded to tie her legs against themselves, her ankles against her ass.

Helen was nervous and afraid. She knew Roy was with his friends, but still— This was her home, her living room, her sofa, and who knew who might come in? Who knew what he might do in the flesh?

Alex sat her against the back of the couch and tied her wrists together, then pulled a chair over opposite the sofa and sat down and looked at her.

She was sitting with her legs apart and her ankles tied against her ass, her bound hands in her lap hiding her sex from him, but still, she felt entirely exposed and vulnerable. She still wore the white dress but it covered nothing but her shoulders.

Alex smiled at her. "So this is my slut."

She said nothing.

"You look better in person than you do on camera. Much better."

Still, she was silent.

Alex leaned forward and picked up the vibrator. He turned it on and used it to knock her hands away from her pussy, then ran it lightly up and down her crease. Helen tried to maintain her composure, but her clit was erect and her pussy throbbing, and the mere touch made her close her eyes and push her hips forward.

"Take it," he said. "Go on, Helen, take it. Use it on yourself."

"No. No, I won't."

He stopped. "Did I just hear someone say 'no'? I thought I heard someone say 'no'. That can't be, can it, Helen?"

She didn't say anything.

"Because only a stupid bitch would say something like that, and I know my slave isn't a stupid bitch, is she?"

He pressed the vibrator against her again and she groaned.

"Now take it, baby.Take it!"

Helen opened her bound hands and took the vibrator from him and pressed it against her pussy in a place different from where he'd been plying it. The very pleasure of it made her grimace and made her sore nipples stiffen, and the knowledge that his eyes were on her made her flush with embarrassment, because now she was doing it for her own selfish pleasure, being a slut for him, and she didn't care. She was close—on fire. This threat of him being with her in her own home had set something off in her and she felt dirty and demented and out of control, and she began to insert the tip of the vibrator into her pussy while she rubbed her clit with her other hand, her eyes closed, a hum of rapture on her lips.

"Yes." Alex sat back in his chair. "Yes, that's my baby. That's my little whore."

She heard him unbuckling his pants and heard his zipper going down, and she cracked her eyes to see him pulling his cock out, tall and hard and lovely—just what she needed. It literally made her mouth water and she dipped the vibrator deeper into her cunt in anticipation of what it might soon do to her.

Alex wrapped his hand around it and began to slowly beat off, his hand moving the loose skin up and down on his steely-hard cock.

"You want it?" he asked. "You want some of this, bitch?"

"Mmmmm..." Helen was breathing deeply, watching him through slitted eyes.

Alex let his head fall back. "Ahhh. Feels good! Maybe I'll just keep it for myself. Why waste it on you?"

"Oh fuck!" she moaned. "Please, Master! Please!"

"Please what?"

"Please give me your cock! Please! I'm begging you!"

Her fears were gone. Her nervousness was gone. She didn't know who he was but she didn't even care anymore. He was Alex, her Master, and she knew him well enough from online. She knew him well enough to want him.

"Please! Please!"

He stood up and dropped his pants and stripped off his shirt. If Roy should come in, they were dead. She knew that, but she was so on fire and she didn't give a fuck. The doors were locked from the inside with safety locks. They'd have time and she'd think of something. All that mattered now was Alex's cock.

He came over to the sofa and grabbed her legs and pulled her toward the edge and Helen dropped the vibrator and raised her bound hands above her head, looking up at him, trying to pull him into her with her eyes. She spread her legs and Alex braced his knees against the edge of the sofa and leaned forward. The head of his cock touched her pussy.

"Oh! Oh fuck!"

He gave her the tip, just the tip. Held her knees in his hands and plowed her furrow with the tip of his cock, dragging a groove against her pussy and then dipping into her opening but not giving her enough. She opened around him like a tight little mouth and then closed as he pulled out, coated with her juice.

"No!" She growled in anger and frustration.

"Greedy?"

"More! All of it!"

He gave her the tip again, leaving it in her this time and making her gasp and wiggle, trying to suck him inside before he pulled it out.

"Oh God!" she moaned. "Please!"

He began to poke her with it, dipping it into her and letting it skate against her clit, but never giving her enough, never filling her, never satisfying.

Helen sobbed. Her hips began to jerk on the sofa. "Fuck me! Please, Master! I need it!"

Alex got the vibrator from where she'd dropped it and put it in her hands.

"Use this too. I want to feel you buzz around me, whore. Then I'll give it to you."

Helen moaned and brought her hands down. She pressed the vibe against her pussy with her bound hands and Alex pushed her knees open to stare at the salacious scene, then took his cock and slid into her, making her grunt like an animal in sudden satisfaction and relief. He got up on his knees and lifted his head and groaned himself as he felt the powerful vibrations shake her sheath around him, and Helen whined with orgasmic anguish at the incredible sensation.

dr_mabeuse
dr_mabeuse
3,766 Followers